


take it back to a couple years yesterday

by cowboykillers



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: First Kiss, M/M, School Reunion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-01
Updated: 2016-01-01
Packaged: 2018-05-10 21:03:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5600794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cowboykillers/pseuds/cowboykillers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Danny really, really doesn't want to go to his twenty year high school reunion.</p><p>Steve decides they're going anyway, and Danny takes it about as well as you'd expect.</p>
            </blockquote>





	take it back to a couple years yesterday

**Author's Note:**

  * For [darkmoore](https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkmoore/gifts).



> Title from Tristan Prettyman's "Say Anything." Hope you enjoy, darkmoore!

Danny steps into his kitchen, halfway through buttoning up his shirt, when he sees Steve rifling through his mail. This is annoying but not entirely surprising, as personal boundaries have never really been Steve's forte, and to be fair, Danny hasn't made a sincere effort to establish any past day one. (He knows when he's looking a losing battle in the face, okay, and Hurricane Steven had brought more important issues to the table than correcting his backwards concept of social interaction, so Danny had written it off. Maybe that was his first mistake, he's not sure; there have been so many, and he has so many regrets.) It takes him a moment to realize that Steve has helpfully sorted his mail into piles of bills and junk, and he is halfway to an absent thank-you when he notices the invitation in his hand, his high school's name embossed in bright red writing on the card. All gratitude evaporates in a moment, and it takes everything that Danny has in him not to snatch the card away from him.

He settles, very maturely he feels, for saying, "That is a federal offense."

Unconcerned, Steve waves the card between them. "Shelby says you haven't RSVP'd. You've gotta get on that, Danno."

Danny fastens the second-to-last button, neatly sidestepping Steve and heading for the coffee pot. There's already a mug waiting for him, and he curls his hand around it, twisting to give Steve the eye. "I am aware. Put that away, would you? I'm handling it."

"You're ignoring it," Steve corrects, tucking the card into his pocket. Danny wants to strangle him, just a little, and briefly fantasizes about it while he downs his coffee. "But I've got this. C'mon, we're late."

Steve heads for the door, and Danny lifts his coffee threateningly as he follows. "What do you mean, you've got this? There is nothing to be got."

The door slams on their argument, which is no different from any other day, and Danny puts it out of his mind when they get into a high speed chase on the way to headquarters. By the time he's got his knee in a runner's back and the spilled coffee is drying on his thigh, he's annoyed enough by his circumstances in general that he doesn't have it in him to threaten Steve within an inch of his life regarding meddling in his high school reunion, which is the most recent in a long line of mistakes he's made.

He forgets all about it, actually, which is probably exactly what Steven is counting on.

***

Two weeks later, he's comfortable in the knowledge that he's the last person in the office when his complacency is shattered by over six feet of reserve SEAL backing into his office, arms loaded with take out containers. He takes a moment to appreciate the absurdity of Steve opening the door with his absolutely inconsequential ass -- he's known the man going on six years, he's noticed certain details, such as the fact that he can't keep a pair of swim trunks up over his hips to save his life because there's _nothing to catch them_  when they start to fall, all right -- before he recalls that a) he had previously been enjoying the silence to catch up on paperwork, and b) Steve's present smug smile is veering dangerously into chipmunk territory.

The chipmunk grin invariably means bad things for Danny's blood pressure, and -- "It's _Thursday_ , Steven, I have plans this weekend. Plans which involve cold beer, my new flat screen television, and not even one iota of whatever craziness you've planned that you're buttering me up for with -- is that Sushi Sasabune?"

There's a long pause during which -- impossibly -- Steve's smile increases in smugness.

"How do you even get that to go?" As outraged as he is intrigued, Danny scoots sideways, beckoning Steve in further. "You don't. I know you said you were going to, but you don't. They're insane there. And expensive, which leads me to believe this is an elaborate hoax."

"Take a breath," Steve interjects, rolling his eyes and unburdening himself of the various bags. "I told you: I know people. You want some or not?"

"Maybe," Danny shoots back, hooking a finger in one of the bags and dragging it close. It does, in fact, appear to be sushi. "Depends. Why are we eating this? What have you done that you need to suck up for?

Steve drags a chair over, rolling his eyes and dropping into it with a boneless grace that sometimes, just a little, makes Danny want to throttle him. "Can't I just do something nice for my partner?"

In theory, yes. He and Steve are the kind of friends who do, occasionally, do very nice, over-the-top things for one another, sometimes prompted by one or the other of them being shot (Danny) or emotionally traumatized (Steve -- though Danny maintains that using the jaws of life to extract a childhood memory shouldn't be traumatizing, but all right, he understands what he's working with here) but rarely are these fits of generosity entirely unprecedented. Steve is a creature of cause and effect, one not easily swayed by sentimentality and gifts of _just because_ , so Danny feels that his concern here is understandable. Rational, even.

He's willing to put it aside, though, because the sushi is very good and he's very appreciative of it. He's about to tell Steve this, actually, as he lifts a roll to his mouth and takes the first heavenly bite, but he gets distracted by the paper Steve is flapping between them. Taking brutal, mercenary advantage of the fact that Danny is not a heathen and isn't going to spit extremely expensive sushi all over his own desk, Steve calmly and infuriatingly says, "So I got our tickets and we fly out tomorrow morning. Chin and Kono are good to hold down the fort, Lou's got that family thing but it's been pretty quiet, they probably won't need to call him in."

Danny swallows, holding up one hand, and tries to breathe through the impulse to shout. (See? Therapy. Maybe it didn't work for him and Rach, but by God, he's getting something out of it this time.) He makes the mistake of opening his eyes and looking right into Steve's pleased, triumphant smile, and he can feel all the ground he's gained in their weekly sessions crumbling beneath his feet.

"Steven." 

"Daniel," Steve returns, the corners of his mouth kicked up into a smirk, as he prepares a dish of soy sauce for himself.

The hand that Danny's holding up shakes slightly, and he lowers it to the desk, very softly. "Please tell me that you didn't buy us both plane tickets to God knows where. Tell me this isn't a kidnapping. I've let you get away with a lot, but I really will have to arrest you, if only to make a point and get it through your thick skull that you can't just abscond with people whenever you want--"

"Abscond?" Steve's eyebrows crawl to his hairline, but Danny doesn't miss a beat.

"--yes, abscond, look it up, I swear, there is more to the English language than alpha, bravo, boom."

"Would you just look at the tickets before you give yourself a hernia? You'll be happy."

Steve seems so assured of this fact that Danny does have to swipe the paper from where it's resting on the desk, gaze steady and accusing on Steve's face, because anything that puts that look on _that_  particular mug is bound to be a headache for Danny. Steve gestures impatiently, and there's a long, taut moment of silence between them.

"New Jersey?" Tone blank, he looks between the printed slip and Steve's face, searching for the punchline. It doesn't seem to be forthcoming, and so he repeats himself, with a little bit of incredulity: " _New Jersey_?"

"Yeah. For your reunion." Danny's mouth opens, but no sound comes out, which Steve seems to take as as a good sign, because he settles back further in his chair, that pleased smile coming back. "I took it out of your year-end bonus, so don't worry about paying me back."

"I have a year-end bonus?" Is his first question, followed by, "What, _why_ are you coming to my reunion?" and, honestly, the conversation degenerates from there.

***

After the shouting match in Danny's office ("You bought two tickets _ten years ago_ , you seriously want to invite Rachel?" "No, I don't want to invite _anyone at all_ , I still _haven't_!"), they don't speak, not even on the way to the airport the next morning. Steve's grip is white-knuckled on the steering wheel the entire time, and Danny's gaze is pointed determinedly out the window, unwavering. For reasons that seem to be beyond Steve's comprehension, Danny is just _slightly upset_  about this most recent breach into his personal life and complete and utter disregard of his boundaries, and after six years of attempting to socialize his neanderthal of a partner, he's losing the will to try. There are only so many times he can beat his head against a brick wall before his brains start coming out, he wants to say, but he doesn't, because he's afraid if he starts talking he's never going to stop, and he knows himself. Knows his temper, better yet, and things had started going south with Rachel about five, six years in, so he recognizes when he's hit his limit regarding interpersonal relationships.

Not that he's comparing what he and Rachel had to what he and Steve have. That would be ridiculous, and inappropriate, and disturbing, to name just a few adjectives. Definitely a fraternization breach, and he'd learned to be fast and loose with proper police procedure since partnering with Steve, but there were things that were still important to him. 

His sanity, to name one, or at least what was left of it. He had a feeling his tenuous grip on it would dissolve completely if he married Steve, and then where would Grace be? The only sane fatherly influence left in her life would be _Stan._ Absolutely unacceptable.

They pass through security tight-lipped and mutually annoyed with each other, and it isn't until the plane's taking off and Steve tries to order enough mini-bottles of alcohol to truly embarrass them both that Danny breaks, jabbing a finger at him.

"No." Steve frowns at him, lines dug deeply between his eyebrows, as the flight attendant smothers a smile. "You're flying into Jersey sober, because this was your harebrained idea, and I want you to suffer for every second of it."

Digging his shoulders into the back of his seat, Steve flicks his gaze to Danny and mutters, "Mission accomplished."

***

Stella picks them up at the airport, her hair piled up on top of her head in a messy approximation of a bun and her eyes big, clear, and too keen for Danny _or_  Steve's comfort. She starts things off by greeting them pleasantly enough, thanking them both for looking after her idiot son, and then shoves them toward baggage claim with a brisk efficiency that even impresses Steve. Steve and Danny still aren't talking, really, but at least this time it's because Stella and Danny are tossing insults back and forth as often as they are endearments, and for the first time since Steve dropped the bomb on him that they were going to Danny's high school reunion, the tension's almost entirely left Danny's shoulders.

He's still not happy about it, and he's still struggling to find a way to express to Steve that healthy, functioning adults don't just make unilateral decisions for their best friends that involve intense travel plans and their families, but it's a slight improvement on the tense, angry silence they've been enduring for the past day and a half. Steve seems to realize that he's not out of hot water yet, too, because when they get to Stella's car with their bags in tow, all it takes is one pointed look from Danny and he's lifting his hands, rounding the car to slip into the back seat.

Stella hides a smile under the pretense of digging her keys out of her purse, and Danny wants to die a little.

Halfway to the house, Stella's gaze flicks back to meet Steve's, and she smiles a little lopsidedly at him. "So, Ma's been pretty excited about you visiting. Did up Danny's old room for you, and he's gotta take mine and Renae's."

Steve's grin stretches as Danny splutters, "What, why, that's _my_  old room--"

"--yeah, and it was the biggest, 'cause you and Matt were disgusting and needed the windows to air it out, so it goes the the _guest_ \--"

There's an awful, painful beat of silence, and all the air in the car gets sucked out at once. The song switches over on the radio, and Stella begins to talk again, a little too loudly, jerking the car over a lane to the blare of a horn behind them. "--so you can shove it, Danny. Anyway, Ma'll kill you if you try to argue, and then Dad'll kill you for getting her started."

From the back, Steve says, quiet and steady, "I was thinking I would just stay in a hotel."

The silence this time is incredulous, and then Stella laughs, bright and loud.

"You keep telling yourself that, babe." Sharing an amused look with her brother, she asks out of the side of her mouth, "Where'd you pick this one up, anyway?"

" _He_  picked _me_  up," Danny says, realizing as the words are leaving his mouth exactly how it sounds, but unable to snatch them back. Anyway, it wouldn't matter: the way Stella's looking at him, she's got him all figured out, just like she always does. "You know what I mean."

He yanks on his seat belt hard, twisting to watch the familiar milepost signs skip by, and ignores the unmistakable feeling in the air of everyone in the car trying not to laugh but him.

*** 

Steve survives the Williamses (barely, and he suffers enough trying to navigate his dad's dry, devastating sense of humor and his mom's meddling good intentions that it puts Danny in a pretty good mood by the time they hit the hay) and he takes the night to work the worst of the knot out of his tail, because when it comes down to it, he's going to this thing whether he wants to or not. The situation isn't ideal and he'd sure as hell rather be going alone than with his psychotic ex-SEAL partner, but in the grand scheme of things, Danny rarely gets what he wants. It's one of the few constants of his life, comforting in how depressingly regular it is, and he's just learned to roll with it. So, he puts on a tie, runs his hands down the line of his buttons, and resigns himself to an evening of awkward small talk and many, many questions about Rachel that he's not thrilled to answer.

It isn't lost on him that the last time he went to a class reunion he felt just about exactly opposite he does now. He had a wallet full of pictures of his baby girl to show off, and he and Rachel were still having more good days than bad; he'd wheeled her around to all of his old classmates, and he'd heard, time and time again, that he'd snagged himself a good one. She'd charmed the people he used to rub elbows with, and the people he didn't, and looking back, he should have realized that the incredulity people expressed when they realized he and Rach were married wasn't as flattering as he'd thought it was.

Everybody had seen it coming, he guesses, except for him. It's taken him a long time to come to terms with the fact that it wasn't because he wasn't _good_ enough for Rachel, they just -- weren't a good fit. The idea of explaining that to all these people, people he hasn't actually spoken to since the last time they had a reunion, is so abhorrent that it's actually making him a little bit nauseous, and he refuses to examine that feeling too deeply.

He's got nothing to be _ashamed_  of, all right. A lot of people get divorces. A lot of people's lives don't turn out how they want them to. Maybe not all of them end up moving thousands of miles to a godforsaken rock, uprooting their career and leaving 90% of their family behind on the whim of their ex-wife, only to get tangled up with the most certifiably crazy emotional leech outside a padded room, but hey, life's full of surprises. The animal at least wore a button-down, which Danny supposes is his equivalent of dressing up, so the entire situation could be worse, he supposes.

Gaze flicking to Steve, he reaches over to turn the music down, drawing his partner's attention from where he's been moodily staring out the window and drumming his fingers on his thighs. "Okay, Steven, we're almost there, so we need to set some ground rules."

Steve shifts, raising both of his eyebrows eloquently.

Danny aims a finger at him. "The only stories you get to tell are the Grace-appropriate ones, circa 2010. These people used to know me as one of Jersey's finest, and I don't need them seeing how far I've fallen into depravity. Two, you don't get to demonstrate any moves on anybody for any reason, we do not have immunity and means here, and my class rented this auditorium. It is not a five star hotel, treat it softly. Thirdly, do not insult New Jersey, do not insult anyone from New Jersey -- that includes celebrities -- and just, you know, keep a lid on the Jersey hate. These people were born and raised here, they will kill you and dump you in the river, and I just might let them."

He's focusing more on his driving than paying attention to Steve's face, gesturing with his free hand while he talks, and doesn't find it strange that Steve's remained silent. Of the two of them, he's definitely the more stoic (ha, ha, Chin.) and maybe he's finally, finally learned his lesson.

"We're going to go, make the rounds, you are going to explain that your control-freak tendencies and your burning desire to see the best state in the union are why you're here, we'll make nice for a bit, and then we'll go back to my parents' place and put this entire godawful experience behind us for the rest of our lives. Got it?"

They roll into a space and Danny throws the car into park, glancing at Steve and expecting an eye-roll, but what he gets instead is a carefully blank look. He knows that look, has become intimately acquainted with it over the past six years or so, and wonders exactly when they crossed over from "Steve is annoyed things aren't going his way" to "Steve is experiencing a genuine emotion and doesn't know how to handle it," and, further, he wonders _which_  emotion it is. Of the two of them, Danny ought to be the one experiencing the emotions. He is, in fact, full of emotions, most of them on the negative end of the spectrum, and the idea that Steve's getting cold feet for something that was his idea is enough to have him explode just a little.

"What is the face? Put the face away. This was _your_ dumb idea. I didn't even want to _come_ , need I remind you, you're the one who got it in your head that humiliating me in front of my old classmates would be a good idea, so you don't get to pull that face now. We're here, suck it up, behave, and then we can go."

Danny's hand is on the door when Steve asks, "Is this seriously humiliating for you?" and his response is automatic, emphatic: " _Yes_ , what else would it be?"

Steve doesn't answer, but he does slam the car door, and Danny follows hot on his heels. As they muscle their way inside, Danny grips him by the upper arm, twisting Steve around to face him, and hisses, " _Behave_."

Eyes hooded, Steve cuts back, "Don't worry, I won't _embarrass_ you," and jerks his arm free, striding across the room and making a beeline for the refreshments.

Danny hesitates only a second, then throws his hands in the air and wheels around, headed in the opposite direction.

*** 

"So, you fighting with your boyfriend or something?"

Danny glowers over the top of his cup of punch, downing half of it in one go, and watches Shelby's eyebrow raise in slow, steady amusement. He takes his time wiping off his mouth with a napkin, counts backwards from five in his head, and raises a single finger.

"There is no right way to answer that. Yes, we are fighting, no, he is not my boyfriend, also, why are you asking me this? I'm trying to have a nice, civilized conversation with you. I trusted you, Cameron."

Shelby grins, folding her arms under her breasts and glancing past him. "I'm just saying. I didn't even think you were coming, and then this Steve calls, says yeah, the two of you are gonna make it, and I'm pleased, okay? I'm pleased. Been a while, and since your prehistoric ass won't even get on Facebook, none of us know what the hell's up with you."

Danny determinedly doesn't turn around to see what makes her smile grow, because he's sure Steve is doing something unauthorized, and he'd rather not cause a scene in the middle of the auditorium.

"He seems nice," she adds, which, really, is the last straw.

"He seems nice," Danny repeats, reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose. "Yes, sure, he seems nice when he's not bulldozing over your every sensible objection to his insane schemes, when he's not -- insinuating himself -- into every corner of your life, okay, when he's not bullying you out of one job and into another which, yes, okay, you like the job but would you have liked to be asked? Would you have preferred not to have some hot-shot ex-SEAL throw his weight around and insult everything from your apartment to your _perfectly respectable_  wardrobe? Yes, yes you would have, but that's not how this story goes."

He's really winding up, sort of hitting his stride, when Shelby reaches out to settle a hand on his shoulder. The touch is so gentle, so grounding, that it takes all the wind out of his sails.

She stares. "Man, I was just saying he seems nice. I talked to him earlier, he had nothing but good things to say about you. It's Danno this, Danno that, talking about how you take down the bad guys and taught him everything he knows about being a cop, I mean--" She laughs, shaking her head. "You'd think the sun shines out of your ass, Dan. If you're not dating, you'd better let him know that."

With that, she toasts him and walks away, leaving Danny gaping after her a little bit like a moron.

That's fair, he decides, as he finally turns and sees Steve grinning, arms spread wide as he regales a cluster of his former classmates with some story or another, because he is a bit of a moron. Something hasn't been sitting right with him since they walked in, and it's finally clicked into place, a day late and a dollar short -- and god, if Rachel were here, she'd be laughing at him, because he's never been good with this kind of thing and he probably never will be. He's been wondering for the past half an hour what bug crawled up Steve's ass in the car and died, and the answer is so obvious in retrospect that he's almost embarrassed. 

This is his rear-end collision, he realizes, and very nearly laughs. He doesn't, because it would probably come out a little bit hysterical, but what he does do is weave his way through the assembled people, patting shoulders in dismissal as he goes, until he reaches Steve and his captive audience.

"Excuse me," he says, shoving his way in and snaking a hand around Steve's elbow. No one else would notice the way he suddenly stiffens, so slight and so subtle, but Danny does. "I need to borrow my partner a minute."

"Dan, he was just telling us about last summer, man, it was --"

"Classified," Danny returns, flashing his former classmate a teasing smile, and tugs on Steve's arm. "Or it should be. Come on, Steven, chop chop. You can come back to your adoring fans in ten minutes, I swear."

"More your fans than mine," Steve claims, but lets himself be led away, the set of his shoulders drawing up tighter the further they get from other people.

Danny never thought he'd see the day Steve was more uncomfortable around him than a group of strangers, and it stings to know that's his fault. 

"Okay, so." Once they're outside, they garner a couple curious glances, but Danny waves the people back in and focuses on Steve instead. That guarded look is back, and if Danny weren't about to attempt to clarify some things, maybe apologize a little bit, he'd want to smack it right off his face. "It has come to my attention that I may have miscommunicated some things."

"You?" Steve asks, head drawing back, and yeah: the urge to smack him is rising.

"Zip it," is said with a finger snap, and Danny breathes in. Breathes out. "The humiliating part of this entire endeavor is the fact that every single person in that room met Rachel, and just about every single one of them congratulated me on snagging someone out of my league. They all knew me when I was working here in Jersey, okay, I'm not exactly a big traveler, I'm _known_. My family's known here, the Williamses are sort of -- we're an institution. And I sort of shit all over that, ruined my marriage, nearly bankrupted myself flying halfway across the world and starting all over, it just--"

His face is going hot, and he feels itchy, his collar too tight, and the look Steve's giving him isn't helping. Steve opens his mouth, but Danny barrels on over the top of him, because he _needs_  to get this out.

"--it did not put me in a good place, head-wise. And there's you, with your usual bull-headed enthusiasm, just up and deciding we're doing this, making arrangements with my family, and you know, I talked to Stella. It occurs to me that she had a point when she cornered me and told me to stop being, and I quote, such a little bitch to you, because I? I do not get pushed around. I am not a man who does anything he doesn't want to, contrary to whatever idea you have rattling around in that giant head of yours, ergo: I wanted to come."

He takes a deep breath, and somehow, he's backed Steve up against a wall, and there's not a lot of space between them anymore.

"I just didn't realize that. If I was ashamed, Steven, it was of -- myself, of how I've handled this. Not of you and the team, not of the life I've got there. I do good work," he says, and then, with more feeling, repeats, "I do _good_ work. My baby girl is happy, and so's my baby boy. Rach and I are talking again, I've got this wacky, insane team full of people who're the best friends I've ever had, and I've got -- you."

He reaches up, plucking at a string on Steve's shoulder, and frowns, gaze intent on the collar of his shirt. "It's about me, okay? I've got hang-ups. You know I've got hang-us. But I wanted to say -- that I am sorry -- and thank you. For, you know. This push. This doesn't authorize any future pushes, and it doesn't forgive any other pushes retroactively, because you have done a lot of pushy things I am _not_ on board with, but in this instance? I'm glad I came."

Steve's hands brace on his shoulders, giving him a light shake, and Danny looks up. Licks his lips, and amends, "I'm glad _we_  came."

"Okay," Steve says, as simple as that, skimming his hands down Danny's arms. This is the part where they go in for a hug, maybe, or one of them steps away, but neither of them moves. "You want to go back inside?"

Danny thinks about it for the space of three seconds, mutters, "No, you moron," maybe to himself, or maybe to Steve, he's not sure, and grabs a fistful of Steve's shirt. Heart knocking against his ribs, he pulls Steve down as he rises up, heat crawling down his neck as Steve's hands lift up and away defensively and Danny clicks their teeth together, messy, inelegant, awkward.

Shelby pokes her head out, swinging from side to side as she says, "Hey, Dan, somebody said you were -- oh -- okay," and goes back inside, smiling.

Danny drops flat-footed again, still very close, a little bit winded from the sheer panic of what he's just done, and is dimly aware of Steve's hands carefully settling at his hips. After a moment of silence, Steve says, "That wasn't great," which is so absolutely the furthest thing from what Danny expected that it shatters the moment completely.

"Fuck _you_  and the horse you rode in on," he splutters, trying to wrench backward, but he catches Steve's gaze and sees how soft and warm it is and ends up rooted to the spot. His words shrivel and dry up, because he's seen that look on his face before, knows exactly the way every line fans out from the corners of his eyes when he's smiling because he's _happy_ , and it's never been aimed at him quite like this before.

"Let's try again," Steve suggests, ducking his head down, and Danny makes a note: 

He has a lot of regrets.

This stupid trip is, surprisingly, not one of them.

**Author's Note:**

> come see me on tumblr at [tevenesass](http://tevenesass.tumblr.com) if you want to shout about these losers or just be pals or anything, really. (thumbs up)


End file.
